Honest Answers
by CameoAmalthea
Summary: Luke and Sylar fic, set post "Trust and Blood". Luke is curious, and never learned that curiosity can be a dangerous thing. Sylar teaches him that lesson so he won't forget.


It had been a few days since Luke had started traveling with Sylar, but it seemed like everything else was a lifetime away. Looking back, Luke could never have imagined he'd be here, in some motel along a highway in the middle of nowhere. He'd never thought that he'd leave his life behind to run off with a stranger, but at the moment it felt like doing just that was all Luke had ever wanted.

Although, really, Luke had never been sure what he wanted. He had no idea. Luke knew what he didn't want. He didn't want his mother to yell at him or lecture him again on the same things he'd already heard. He didn't want to be there with her, or to be at school, or in that town. He didn't want to be who he was, he didn't want his life. There were lots of things Luke didn't want, but as far as his own desires, he had no idea what h wanted.

For now, Luke was content to be here, with Sylar, about to start another day of their journey as soon as the checked out. The motel was one of the nicer places they had stayed at, in that it offered complimentary breakfast in the morning. Sure, breakfast amounted to stale doughnuts, but it was something. There was also coffee, which, crappy as it was, was always welcome in the mornings.

Luke had gone down to the lobby where the food was laid out while Sylar showered. No one else was there, and he was glad of that. He couldn't help being nervous when other people were around, he was afraid of being recognized. The police and worse were hunting both of them now, and he was sure his face had been on the news.

Sylar didn't seem concerned. He'd informed Luke he generally didn't leave people alive to recognize him, if he could help it. So Luke's mom had been pretty lucky, and so had Luke. He wondered if leaving his mom alive had been the right decision. She probably told the cops everything, and had his face out there on wanted posters. She probably wanted him to be caught, so he'd get what he deserved.

All the same, he was grateful Sylar hadn't hurt her. She was still his mother after all, even though he wasn't her son now. She's made that clear enough, what are you? He was not her son.

It hurt. He'd been so afraid, sick over it, shocked by it. What had he done? He'd only been trying to save Sylar, he hadn't thought about what he was doing at the time. He had just reacted.

The night afterwards, he'd seen the scene replay in his head again, and again. He'd dreamed it, and had to run to the bathroom in the middle of the night to be vomit. Sylar heard, and had been sitting up looking at him as Luke came back into the room face red and stained with tears.

He'd headed to bed without saying a word, feeling ashamed, and weak. Like a child, when that was the last thing he wanted Sylar to see him as. Luke hadn't lain down, because his stomach still felt woozy. He pulled his knees up and rested his head against them, just breathing.

Luke hadn't heard Sylar move, but suddenly he was beside him, offering him water in a flimsy cup of see through plastic. Luke had taken it, sipping slowly as he felt Sylar hand on his soldier.

"Don't worry, it get easier?"

He'd stopped drinking, the question forming on his lips.

"The killing." Sylar clarified, smirking as Luke looked up at him. "You might even learn to like it." He whispered, and then turned, heading back to his own bed.

That was the first time Luke wondered exactly had many people this man had killed.

Luke had selected some pastries and was headed towards the door balancing the plate and two Styrofoam cups of steaming coffee. When he paused to open the door leading out into the parking lot, his eyes fell on a computer sitting on a table a few feet away; a placard reading guest use hung above it.

Again Luke looked around self consciously, but the room was still empty, no one there to see. He moved towards the computer, setting the cups and plate down before moving around to sit in the chair.

He'd be quick, only on for a minute. Just a quick search, then he'd leave. Luke knew enough to clear the memory of his search after he was done, so there wasn't any harm in it. Luke was just curious, and all that information was right at his fingertips, just a few seconds, that was all it would take.

He logged on to a search engine, searching the name Sylar. He chose to scan the Wikipedia article, quickest and easiest. Luke's eyes raced over the words, the number of possible victims attributed to Sylar, which varied from around a dozen to forty depending on what you believed. Under a in fiction tab, a comic book series by someone named Isaac Mendez, describing Sylar as a super powered killer listed the highest amount of kills, while official police reports were less. The article noted that Mendez wrote his own death into the comic series shortly before being murdered, and that police would have deemed his death a suicide if not for the cause. That cause was like all the others attributed to Sylar, head opened, brain removed. No marks, the cuts so clean no one had any idea how someone could make them without using a laser.

Luke stopped reading when his eyes fell on an illustration taken from one of Mendez's comics, a body with the top of the head taken off, brain removed, and blood spilling out like water from a coconut.

The boy closed the page, and wiped his search history. He shouldn't have been gone this long. Grabbing the coffee and dough nuts he headed back to the room.

Sylar had just finished pulling on his pants as Luke entered.

"Where were you," he asked, closing the door telekinetically behind Luke as soon as the boy was inside.

"I got breakfast," said Luke hastily, offering Sylar one of the cups of coffee. He set the plate down, along with his cup, intending to grab his jacket from the floor by the bed so they could head out.

"Is that all you were doing?" asked Sylar, "you were gone a while."

Luke stopped, and met the others gaze. He knew he couldn't lie, Sylar would know if he did. Luke was used to being a liar, lies rolled off his tongue much easier than the truth ever did, but no one could lie to Sylar.

Luke was silent.

This wasn't the response Sylar wanted.

Luke suddenly couldn't move. His whole body was held in place, rigid. The message was clear, Sylar has asked him a question, and he had better answer, and truthfully.

"I got online for a second." Luke admitted, "It just for a second, no one saw, and I cleared the memory afterwards."

"Sudden urge to check your?" he asked incredulously, but Sylar released his hold.

"No, I was…" he trailed off, looking away.

"What?" he asked, titling his head to the side ever so slightly, large eye brows raised.

"I googled you. I was curious, all right. About who you are."

"You know who I am Luke." He chuckled, "you've seen firsthand. But did you learn anything interesting."

"You've killed people, a lot of people, across the whole country."

"Across several."

"And you take their brains. Is it really to take their powers?" That's what the plotline was in 9th Wonders, and a comic book that told the truth wasn't so farfetched was it? Not given things Luke had seen. What he himself could do was pretty impossible.

"Yes."

"That's awesome,"

Sylar looked slightly shocked at that response, but Luke didn't notice as he rambled on.

"So that's how you can do so many things, instead of just having one power like I do. How do you do it? What—"

"I didn't give you permission to ask all these questions." Said Sylar annoyed, his glare was enough to make Luke shrink back like a scolded puppy.

"I'm sorry." He kept his head down, and looked away a moment. Then his eyes went back to Sylar. "Can I ask one more, just one, how many? How many people have you killed, really?"

"Forty five," he answered the number precise, "So far."

The shock was written all over Luke's face.

"I'm a monster." said Sylar, "I'm a predator. It's evolution, Luke; some are born to hunt, to kill. I'm driven by that hunger, by that need."

Luke gulped, "so anyone with a power, you kill them, take their brains? Do you eat them?"

"Brains?" he looked disgusted, "how do people come up with that theory it's—"

"Sorry, so what do you do? How does it work?"

"I understand how things work," said Sylar, "just by looking at the parts that make a person tick." He motioned to his brain, "it's all in what's in here."

Luke was reminded of Sylar's words the day they met, Sylar's comment about Luke's will, what's in here. Those same words.

The fact that Sylar had probably intended to make him a victim washed over him, like being drenched by ice water. Luke hadn't really given it much thought before; he never knew Sylar would have a particular desire to kill because of his gift. The look Sylar had given him when he'd used his powers that first time, he'd seen the hunger then, even though he hadn't understood it.

"So you understand now?" asked Sylar.

Luke nodded, "Were you going to kill me?" he asked.

"I didn't." said Sylar, "and I'm still not entirely sure why I didn't, or if I won't eventually. You're useful for now," He took a sip of his coffee, "very helpful. And I can control my hunger, to an extent. But I'd be lying if I told you that it wouldn't feel good."

"How do you do it?" asked Luke, morbid curiosity, "cut people open like that, I can't figure that out."

"The same way I can move things." Sylar answered, he took another sip of coffee, and then set the cup down on the bedside table. "You really shouldn't ask so many questions, learning to keep your mouth shut unless spoken to would be a good idea. But since you're so eager to know, I can demonstrate."

Luke's body went rigid again; arms spread outward against his will, like he was just a puppet as his entire body was lift slightly off the ground. His was white with fear, but he didn't so much as breathe. Sylar lifted his hand, a finger pointed at Luke, guiding an invisible blade. "It takes control, concentration." Sylar explained, as he ran his finger through the air.

The shirt Luke was wearing ripped midway down his sleeves, cut in a straight line, the two shards of fabric fell to floor, leaving Luke shirtless.

"Precision," said Sylar "is everything." He moved his hand again, the time downwards, cutting a diagonal gash across Luke's chest as if with a sharpened knife, so sharp it didn't even hurt at first; Luke felt his blood trickling down his front before he felt the pain. Sylar smirked, as Luke stared wide eyed. "What do you think, Luke?"

Luke had to answer, silence was disobedience and would be met with further punishment, and he knew he couldn't lie. So he told the truth, "You're a god."

Sylar dropped him, caught off guard by the response, the honest response. Even without his ability he could tell it was the truth. There was fervor in Luke's voice as he said it that was just too real.

Luke collapsed to his knees on the floor the moment Sylar released his hold. He looked up at Sylar as he moved closer, standing above him. On impulse, Luke rested his forehead against Sylar's knee, head down, eyes closed, holding him. Then he felt Sylar's hand on the back of his head, gently placed there by this man who could break Luke without a second thought.

It was the very fact that Sylar could break him that made the gentle touch mean so much. Just as the fact that Sylar was so powerful had made the interest he'd shown Luke so flattering. That he'd wanted to see what Luke could do, when Luke was nothing compared to him, not yet, but he could learn. He wanted that more than anything, just to learn. Sylar was giving him that chance, and Sylar had given Luke his life by sparing the boy from his hunger.

It was really was big deal, Luke had had no idea. Sylar had killed so many, but Luke, he'd let live.

All these things made Luke happy, because they made him feel special.

Maybe that was what Luke really wanted, if he was honest with himself.


End file.
